


Cuddle Up and Cosy Down

by TakeTheShot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: All the trouble is a set up for niceness, Blatant misuse of S.H.I.E.L.D. resources, Body Worship, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Extraction gone wrong, Fairy Lights, Happy Christmas, Happy Ending, Hot Chocolate, In case you weren't sure, JARVIS is an old romantic, M/M, Phil's Christmas wishes are in trouble, SO SO IN LOVE, Snow is a pain, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, bubble baths, he just wants to love on his boy, it's disgusting really, lazy kissing, mild breaking and entering, more enthusiastic kissing, obligatory christmas fic, soft phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeTheShot/pseuds/TakeTheShot
Summary: The winter after the Invasion of New York and Phil and Clint's first Christmas as couple is fast approaching. Phil's been....making plans. Just a few. Just little ones. Nothing major. Honest. It's just...it's been a hellish year and the thought of having some real time to enjoy together, to spend spoiling Clint.... Well. He's ready. Or, to be more accurate, he was ready. Unfortunately a last-minute mission and failed extraction has them both freezing their asses off in the middle of an English snowstorm, a continent away from all his careful preparations. It would take a fairy godmother to sort this one out.(A serving of Christmas fluff (eventually) in which Tony flexes his wings, Christmas wishes are granted and some 'little' plans are perhaps not that little after all)
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 37
Kudos: 96





	Cuddle Up and Cosy Down

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas fic for you! Last year I gave the boys angst, this year something a little more fluffy. Still working on my WIP's but they're both in an angsty place right now and I just couldn't tackle it. So fluff it is. Yes, the title comes from Dolly Parton's new Christmas song. I'm not that keen but the phrase just seemed perfect for this.
> 
> I hope that your festive season is wonderful whatever your holiday of preference, that your 2020 comes to a happy end and that your 2021 begins with good fortune.
> 
> Enjoy x

“… jet just not an option at the present time Cheese. Extraction in three days, four at most. Okay? You two gonna cope?”

Despite the weight of exhaustion and shitty news settling into his bones Phil bristled down the phone as his boss and friend, “Of course we’ll cope Nick. It’s just…” he paused, “not ideal.”

On the other end of the line, Fury huffed a wry laugh, “Now doesn’t that just about describe every other day since we started this damn job? You know the drill Coulson, follow protocol and I’ll get you out of there as soon as I can. Clear?”

Phil stifled a sigh, “Clear sir.”

“Good. See you in three. Or four. Oh, and Phil?”

“Yes?”

“Happy Holidays.”

The line went dead and now that nobody was listening Phil let the sigh come, huffing it deep and heartfelt. For a moment he felt like tossing the handset across the room and stamping on it, throwing a little tantrum just for himself, and the tinkly music being piped through the pub, the twinkly lights, were not helping with the mood. But, then losing control wouldn’t help, would it? He swiped his hand across his chin, wincing at the beginnings of stubble scratching against his palm. Damn it though. This was absolutely not the news he’d wanted to hear.

Unclipping the little device that had turned the ancient rotary landline into a S.H.I.E.L.D secure line and dropping it back into his pocket, he picked up the phone and, trying not to get tangled in its absurdly long cable, went back round the corner - where he _hadn’t_ been hiding - and into the public lounge. The woman behind the bar looked up from polishing glasses as he placed the telephone back on the counter,

“Thanks for that. Very handy.”

“No problem love. Mobiles don’t like it round here much so that thing gets more use than it should in this day and age.” She gave him a sympathetic look, “No joy for your lift then?”

“No.” Phil shook his head, not having to fake his disappointment “I don’t suppose you’d have the number for a taxi?”

She laughed, “Hark at you - ‘taxi’. Thought you Americans were all ‘cab’. Practised before you came over did you? You’ll be asking me for a _bag of crisps_ next.”

Phil gave her a rueful smile, “It shows that much?”

“Nah,” she assured him, “you’re fine, it’s just everyone knows everyone round here, new faces are pretty obvious, even without the accent. Novelty you are. Anyway, you’re after a taxi?”

“Yes,” Phil felt a tiny surge of hope; they might not be able to get home but if they could get to the nearest town or city… “any chance?”

The barmaid shook her head, “I doubt it love. We’ve only the two roads in and even if one of them wasn’t collapsed, which it is, and other wasn’t three feet under snow with more on the way,” she waved out of the window at the sky, filled with glowering, iron-grey clouds and grimaced, “which it is, it’s Christmas Eve. You’ll not get anybody to drive up this far this time on Christmas Eve.”

“Of course.” Damn. Phil swiped at his face again, the surge receding as quickly as it had come, “Should have thought.”

“Sorry love.” She looked honestly concerned, “You’ll be alright though? You two? I don’t want you go walking out into the snow without somewhere to be.”

He had no choice but to maintain cover and nod, “We’ll be fine, got a place over the dale, just felt like a little less hiking but I guess I’ll be earning my Christmas dinner after all. Thank you though.”

“Good then. And if you don’t mind me saying…” leaning a little closer over the bar she raised her eyebrows conspiratorially and tilted her head just slightly to her right, “…if you have to be slogging through the depths of Derbyshire over Christmas, the company could be worse, eh?”

Phil followed the gesture across the lounge and his heart skipped like a teenager’s. Clint was sitting at one of the low tables, nursing the coke that had been their excuse for coming into the pub, apparently engrossed in reading the back of a beermat. After three days of chasing around the hills and moors following what had turned out to be seriously inadequate intel regarding possible but apparently imaginary alien artifacts, Clint had to be as weary as Phil was, but he looked - as always and despite the many fleece layers of their ‘hiker’ disguises - utterly bloody gorgeous. And capable, and strong, smart. He was the friend and teammate Phil had always relied on, could always rely on, but now - Phil’s heart bumped again - as of just a few wonderful, amazing months, gloriously and finally, he was Phil’s _boyfriend_. Partner. Significant other. His _lover_. Despite the renewed snow now coming down in fat flakes Phil felt himself warm. “Absolutely,” he agreed, “could be worse.”

The barmaid smiled, patted his hand briefly and moved down the bar to greet a bunch of new arrivals, all puffing red-cheeked and stamping snow off their boots. Phil squared his shoulders and headed over to the table Clint had chosen. When he heard Phil approach Clint looked up from the beermat and smiled. Phil’s breath caught in his throat. Would he ever get over seeing that smile directed at him? He really hoped not. 

“This beermat,” Clint said waving it as Phil sat down, “is trying to convince me that the name of this place is some ‘farming heritage’ type thing, but I am not buying it. You cannot name your pub _The Cock and Pullet_ and then claim that it’s all about the chickens. Seriously.” He started to laugh, then caught Phil’s eye and stopped. “Aw, face, no. Not good news?” As Phil shook his head he rolled his eyes and pushed his glass over to Phil, “Shit. Drink this.”

Phil took a swallow and his eyes widened, “Does this have rum in it?”

Clint nodded, “They have a bottle of Kraken and I had a feeling. How bad?”

Phil took another swallow, “Three days, maybe four. No airspace available and this bad weather apparently.”

“Wow.” Clint took the glass and had a gulp of his own, “That’s…that’s actually pretty shit. Thought this was Midland Britain, not the dark side of the moon.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Some of the bitter frustration Phil was feeling must have seeped out into his voice because Clint frowned.

“Hey, no,” he said, his voice low, “come on. You didn’t supply that fuck-useless intel, you didn’t balls up our flight plan and you certainly didn’t cause the fucking snow. This is not your fault. Mind you,” he added, “when I find out who _did_ feed us that useless information we are going to have words. Probably from opposite ends of a trick arrow. ‘Alien relics’ my ass. There’s nothing here but fucking mineshafts and sheep.”

Phil nodded, “I know. It’s just, it’s Christmas. Our first Christmas, you know…” he felt himself flushing and Clint smiled, his eyes going all crinkly and scrunchy in the way Phil just adored, “…as _us_ and now we’re stuck out here and…” 

He shut his eyes briefly, imagining his still new, post-promotion, apartment back in the Tower. His tree, up with a few carefully chosen presents already underneath, lights in the windows. He hadn’t been optimistic enough to imagine that they’d get the entire holiday together, he’d had meetings and reports to do even before Fury’d sent them out on this ‘last-minute-but-essential’ mission and Clint always had trainings and briefings and range time. Between them they had enough commitments to fill days even barring any more ‘emergency’ callouts or planet-threatening interruptions _and_ that was without Stark’s Christmas party or the volunteering Captain Rogers had puppy-dog-eyed them all into agreeing to. Nevertheless, Phil had hoped they’d manage to get at least some time to do what his mother had always called ‘cuddle up and cosy down’ when ssnow fell and she warmed blankets and brewed cocoa. Some time to just to wrap up warm and slow down, be together. He’d even been hopeful enough to make some preparations; a full playlist of lazy movies already primed on the TV, a box of Clint’s favourite chocolates hidden in the bookshelf, the freezer stocked with ingredients for if they’d felt like cooking and the fridge and cupboards groaning with cheese and crackers and pate and bake-it-yourself bread if not. There were even new fuzzy blankets washed and patiently waiting by the couch for any post-dinner doze and a couple of new bottles of bubble bath lined up in the cabinet, added to his weekly grocery order in a fit of optimism just in case. In truth he’d been quietly getting ready for weeks and now all that preparation was thousands of miles away on another damn continent. 

“…I had plans.” He finished lamely.

Unbidden, the image of the little leather box hidden away in his nightstand filled his mind, the ring inside carefully measured with the surreptitious help of JARVIS, chosen with after lots of discussion with the AI (the only one Phil trusted to keep his secret) and with perhaps the greatest care he’d taken over any decision in his life. Nestled into its bed of purple velvet it was waiting for the most important question Phil would ever ask, that he’d almost made up his mind to ask and now they’d both have to have to wait for ‘some other time’…he sighed again. “I had…quite few plans.”

“Hey.” Clint’s hand fell on his knee, squeezing discretely, making Phil jump. He opened his eyes to see Clint watching him, carefully, “I don’t need a fancy Christmas, you know?”

“I know.” Phil said, and he _did_ but that wasn’t the point was it? Clint might not need a fancy Christmas, but fuck, Phil had wanted to give him one. 

Clint hadn’t had a lot of decadence in his life, in recent years neither had Phil, and it was _time_ , he’d thought. Finally time, after a shitty shitty year of aliens and stabbings and rehab and wonderful but painful confessions of long-term oblivious pining on both their parts and the sheer workload and insanity of rebuilding a city, a damaged agency and an entire world’s view of the universe, time for them to just…be _soft_ with each other. Be ‘Clint and Phil’ and not ‘Coulson and Hawkeye’ for more than a few hours at a time. He hadn’t truly realised how much he wanted it, how much he wanted to provide it for Clint in even the little time he’d snatched on both their calendars and now here they were, trapped mid-mission for the festive period and absolutely nothing to be done about it.

“Coulson?”

Phil came back to the present with a bump. Clint looked concerned, his smile twisted and, Phil realised, that just wouldn’t do. They _were_ still mid-mission. He couldn’t do anything to salvage his plans but this shitshow? That he had to salvage. With a conscious effort Phil folded his cosy Christmas dreams away because they were not, he told himself firmly, going to happen. He’d just have to let them go, put those soft moments he’d been hoping for away for later, however much it made his chest ache. They had a job to do. 

Mentally straightening his imaginary tie (fleece collars and Italian silk neckwear not being the best of companions) he drew himself up, knocked back the rest of the drink and offered Clint his best Agent face, “So, apparently we have to make new plans. Come on Agent, protocol awaits.”

Clint sent him back a split-second grin then nodded a firmly and rose, swinging his rucksack easily back on, “Lead the way then, boss.”

\---

The barmaid waved as they left and Phil smiled as he waved back, then grimaced as the frigid outside air hit, quickly sucking away the warmth of the pub. The wind, whistling down the peaks and through the dales, was bitingly cold and the snow showed no signs of letting up. They needed to get out of it, and soon. Phil pulled his hat down more firmly round his ears and turned to Clint as they walked down the main, only, street of the village.

“First things first, obviously, shelter. The pub doesn’t do rooms, I checked, and there’s no guest house here. The village a few dales across has that hostel we saw, but trekking across to it in these conditions would be decidedly risky. So,” he gestured to the bulging pack on Clint’s back, matching the one on his, “camping is our first option.”

Clint’s nose wrinkled in distaste, “Sir, you know as far as I’m concerned camping should only ever be a last resort. And I don’t care how much StarkTech Tony stuck in it, a tent is a tent and it is really fucking snowing. How about a farm building? We passed enough of them on the way here.”

Phil shook his head, “Even if we could find them again in this, that’s just be all the fun of camping but with the added worry of getting caught by the farmer.” He said, adding ruefully, “They don’t get Christmas off either,” 

“So nobody’s getting their fix of _The Cock and Pullet_?”

“No Barton,” Phil rolled his eyes, but also sighed with real regret, “I suspect not. Damn,” he stamped his feet, “my toes are freezing. How are you doing?”

“Not bad, but to be honest, not great. My fingers are starting to stiffen up.”

A decision had to be made, “Right, okay, so no tents and no outhouses, what does that leave us with?” He paused, looking around the darkening street and then cursed, “Damn.”

“Yep…” Clint, following his train of thought, waved a hand through the flurry to the houses lining the street. Most of them were brightly lit with twinkling fairy lights and the apparently fashionable, glaringly neon-blue icicles, but a few stood conspicuously dark, “… looks like we’re doing a little festive breaking and entering then. A few of these are bound to be holiday homes and if there’s nobody here by this time Christmas Eve then I’m willing to bet that nobody’s coming.”

“Damn.” Phil said again. It was a valid method of securing a position to wait to for extract but it wasn’t exactly his favourite.

Clint, knowing it, grimaced, “Sorry” and then to Phil’s horror, he shivered.

Fuck it. S.H.I.E.L.D. had services to manage clear-up and repair, it wasn’t like they were actually going take anything or to cause damage and they were very soon going to be too cold, too wet and in real danger. Enough was enough. Getting Clint out of the snow was much more important than anything else, “Needs must. Come on Santa, let’s work out which chimney to send you down.”

They walked the length of the street again, carefully using that special ‘you-don’t-see-me’ pace, not too fast and not too slow, specifically designed not to draw any more attention than two idiots tramping about in the snow would ordinaily and eventually settled on a likely looking house. It was unlit, at the end of the street and set back from the road by a garden with some nice cover-providing trees. There was no garage that could be hiding any kind of car and best of all it looked to be on multiple levels, with the uneven ground putting the very lowest floor below street-level at least at the front. Which was good, Phil reflected, because that way they should be able to use their torches or even put on a light so at least they wouldn’t have to spend three days in the dark. Which, apparently, was as good they were going to get. ‘Not in the dark’. Wonderful. Phil gritted his teeth through his frustration and, pushing away visions of cosy blankets and soft beds and cuddles in front of his fireplace, led the way through the garden and round to the back.

The garden itself was unlit, there were no security lights to suddenly dazzle as they picked their way in the dimness through uneven paving slabs and half-buried plant pots towards the back door. If anything, it was even darker away from the lights of the street and Phil could feel the deep void of the Dale yawning at the end of the garden even if he couldn’t see it. Which was all to the good really, given that the back of the house was all glass, huge windows, no doubt to take advantage of what would certainly be a spectacular view but that wouldn’t offer much cover. Likely they wouldn’t be putting those lights on after all, Phil realised with a pang and felt something like shame. Cuddled and cosy, christ, they were a long way from that. He huffed out harshly, and Clint’s head whipped round, looking up from where he knelt, examining the door.

“Alright?”

“Yes,” Phil pulled out his torch, aimed the thinnest beam towards the lock, “It’s just…not exactly how I pictured spending Christmas Eve.”

“Well,” Clint chuckled, leaning in to peer into the light, and pulling thin picks from one of his innumerable pockets, “we’ve had worse. Remember that station roof in Venice?”

Phil grimaced, “God, yes. Sixteen hours on those beams surrounded by birds? Unforgettable.”

“I was washing pigeon crap out of my hair for a week. Anything’s got to be better than that.”

Phil had to agree but the feeling, knowing how much he’d wanted more than just ‘anything’, bubbled under his skin, making him antsy. He tried not to shift too much so as not to wiggle the light, “How’s it coming?”

“Nearly there. Nothing to this really, pretty shit security for somewhere so remote. They must really believe in the goodness of their fellow man…hang on, yep. Got it.” Clint stood and pushed gently on the door, which opened with a click, “Tah dah!”

“Nicely done. Wait.” Clint obediently stepped back while Phil went in and checked the room, one hand on the gun hidden under his jacket. He wasn’t expecting trouble but experience had taught him that it always paid to be careful. The space was clear though, just an ordinary boot room, full of coat hooks and shoe racks, washer, dryer, nothing sinister. He waved Clint in, “Welcome to your festive accommodations.” It came out a little harder than he’d intended and Clint stepped close,

“Hey,” he put a hand on Phil’s arm, “told you, I don’t need fancy. We’ll get in there and fire up the primus, break out the dehydrated casserole, abracadabra, instant Christmas. It’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Phil let himself sway, just a little toward Clint, “I was just hoping for something a little better than fine.”

Clint smiled, Phil heard it in his voice, and lifted his hand to brush Phil’s chest, over his heart, over the knotted scar what was Loki’s legacy, “Phil, just the fact that we’re both here is more than fine, even if here is the sheep shit capital of Britain.”

As usual, Phil realised, Clint was right. After the year they’d had, after the invasion, the fact that either of them were anywhere, let alone together, was something to be celebrated in itself, turkey and tinsel be damned. He felt some of his tension loosen, his chest ease. “Alright.” Leaning forward he found Clint’s mouth in the dark and kissed him gently, chapped lips on chapped lips, soft and sweet, “let’s get that casserole on go the then. Maybe crack a glowstick or two, just for the ambiance.”

This time he felt Clint’s smile, “Agent Coulson, kissing on mission and the promise of a candlelit dinner? What more could a boy ask for?” He turned away to push the door closed and seal out the freezing night air, “See? It’s all going to be alright.”

The second the door clicked closed a beam of green light shot from the ceiling, blinding in its suddenness. It flashed around the small room, scanning over them both. Phil’s gun was in his hand before he’d even thought to reach for it and he heard the distinctive sound of Clint’s knives being pulled from their thigh sheaths, there not being enough room for even his foldable bow, but before he could react further a woman’s voice issued from somewhere over their heads, “Identities confirmed,” it said, smoothly but with a faint mechanical twang, “do please come in Agents.”

The light disappeared as suddenly as it had come and Phil shook his head to shift the coloured spots filling his eyes. Behind him, Clint tried the outer door and swore, “Locked. Shit.” He moved up close behind Phil again, “What the fuck is happening?”

“I have no idea.” There was only one other door out, the one leading further into the house, only one option. Slipping off his cumbersome pack, hearing Clint do the same, he reached out for the handle, Clint tense beside him, “Let’s find out.”

Phil burst through the door, Clint on his heels, weapon raised and the room beyond was so bright that for a second he thought he’d gone blind. Blinking rapidly he twisted left and right, searching looking for any threat, felt Clint doing the same and, as his vision cleared, thought instead that he’d gone mad. They were in a large, open-plan room, filled with huge, soft-looking couches arranged around fireplace that was merrily blazing away throwing out much of the light he was still trying to get used to. The rest seemed to be coming from the multitude of fairy lights which adorned every surface, wrapping round the beams overhead, twinkling from shelves and draping across the mantle where, Phil blinked in surprise this time, stockings were hanging. With their names embroidered neatly around the top. Clint and Phil, one each.

“What,” Clint repeated softly, “the actual fuck?”

Phil turned. In front of the huge, and apparently one-way glass, windows stood a huge and lavishly decorated tree with strangely familiar wrapped gifts underneath. A suspicion started to tug at Phil, which was confirmed when from behind the tree walked a very familiar man with dark hair, neatly trimmed beard and immaculate suit,

“Tony?” Clint exclaimed at the same moment Phil ground out,

“Stark.”

The man grinned, “In the flesh. Or,” he lifted one hand, slightly see-through and blue-glowing, a hologram, “near enough. Agent Agent. Katniss. Welcome to my safe-house. One of them,” he amended, “welcome to Christmas.”

Phil holstered his gun, folded his arms. “Explain.”

The hologram wandered away from the tree, over towards what had to be a drinks cabinet and the decanters on top glittered blue as he approached, “Drink? I mean, you’d have to serve yourself,” he wiggled his fingers towards Phil, “haven’t quite perfected hard-light technology yet. But this is where it is. Whiskey?”

“Explanations would be preferable.”

“Oh, fine. Like I said, welcome to Christmas. Your Christmas.” Phil kept his face impassive, waited for Tony to fill the silence, which he did, “Don’t give me that Agent face, I’m being nice here. It’s a present. For you both. I figured you two are just starting out on being… _you two_ and it might be nice if you could have some time and space to do that in. A nice cosy Christmas break. Some tinsel, a log fire, somewhere to stretch out…just be.”

“What makes you think…”

“Fine, Coulson,” Holo-Tony rolled his eyes, “I’ll admit it, I saw your grocery orders. Sorry. Not that I make a habit of seeing reviewing anyone’s spending habits but JARVIS must have had a temporary glitch or something because they hit my desk and I saw that you’d made a few…extraneous purchases,” Phil stiffened and Clint put a calming hand on his arm, “but then I saw your diaries the pair of you and you were hardly ever going to be in the same room so I thought I’d do you a favour, get you out of the spy game for a bit, made a few calls, laid a few trails, and bingo,” he grinned again, “here you are.”

“Laid a few trails?” Clint butted in, “Stark, if you’re the reason I’ve spent three days trudging moors up to my ass in peat bogs and sheep crap I swear…”

“Cool it Barton, I had to get you there somehow, where’s the fun in a surprise that isn’t even a surprise? But…” he went on hurriedly, seeing the look on Clint’s face, “I’m also the reason that you’re there in lovely Derbyshire with your beau, and staying all expenses paid I should add, until my StarkJet comes for you which should be on…the 29th. So a thank you wouldn’t go amiss, am I right? And soon if you please, I do have a Christmas Eve party to get back to.”

Phil took a step forward, glowering, “Does Fury know about this?”

Tony grinned again, “He will, in about twenty minutes. And, if he wants early access to the latest round of StarkTech, he won’t make a fuss about it.” His voice softened, “Phil, you deserve a break. You both do. You saved the world for god’s sake. Clint was brainwashed, and you _died_. I owe you for that. We all do. And seeing you guys happy...well, maybe it warms this old reactor-powered heart. Hence…” he waved an insubstantial hand, “well, this. It’s all you, Phil, I just took what you were thinking of and made a bit...bigger.” 

Phil kept glowering. Tony sighed, “Look, it’s right there in the title. Billionaire, genius, playboy, _philanthropist_. Consider yourselves my good deed for the season. And if you want to keep those boots on and head back out into the snow, I won’t stop you. But, if you don’t, the perimeter guards are set, the shower’s big enough for two and the drinks, the fridge and – call me presumptuous – the nightstand are all _fully_ stocked. Okay?”

Phil considered, then nodded. “Okay.” 

“Thank you Tony?”

He raised one eyebrow, “Don’t push it Stark.”

Tony laughed, “You’re very welcome Agent. Enjoy,” he winked lewdly as the hologram started to fade away, “see you both for New Year’s.”

They stood in the silence for a few moments before Clint muttered with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, “Git.”

“Amongst other things, yes.” 

“What the fuck would he have done if it hadn’t snowed?”

“I imagine if snow hadn’t been scheduled here we’d have found ourselves following a trail somewhere else. The Outer Hebrides possibly. Siberia.” Phil went to the drinks cabinet Tony’s image had so recently vacated and splashed a measure of whiskey into two glasses. One he gulped down, the other he held out to Clint, “So. What do you want to do?”

“Me?” Clint seemed startled to be asked, “What do _you_ want to do? You’re the one who had Christmas plans.”

Slowly, Phil looked round the room again and this time he saw the details. The soft blankets were the same ones he’d laundered before they’d left on Tony’s ‘mission’, the chocolates hidden on the bookshelf in his apartment were the same ones on the table here, the whiskey they were drinking was the same Haig he kept for special occasions and he’d be prepared to bet that the same snacks filled the cupboards. Bending, he peered under the Christmas tree and yes. The same gifts. The actual ones from his rooms in the tower, he could tell. He had had Christmas plans, and here they were. He frowned. JARVIS must have had one hell of a glitch, the electronic romantic. Maybe, Phil thought, he should be annoyed but the whiskey, the warmth, they were soaking into his bones, and while he might not always see eye-to-eye with Stark he did trust him to know his work. All at once he was feeling much more relaxed than he had in a long time. It was almost enough to make him think fondly of the man. Almost. 

“I think,” he said slowly, “that these _are_ my Christmas plans. Almost exactly. Down to the colour scheme. Tony apparently just…” he huffed a laugh, “moved them.”

“All this?” Clint sounded gently incredulous, “You planned all this? I mean, not _all_ of it because Tony is _nuts_ , but you planned this? For me?”

Phil smiled and put down his glass. All this time and Clint still sometimes had a hard time believing he was worthy of effort even though Phil never stopped trying to convince him otherwise. Never had, never would. Stepping close he reached up to cup Clint’s cheek, “Of course,” he said simply, “I love you.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said it but it made his heart jump every time. He went to take his hand away, “but I know you don’t need a fancy Christmas so if you want to leave we can do that. Or stay here in the warm and just ignore the Christmas things, or…”

Clint caught his hand before it made it even an inch and pressed it back his face, “Phil, I don’t need a fancy Christmas. Never have done. But…I think I’d like to have one. With you. I love you too you know.”

Well, what could he do after that but reel Clint in for a kiss? Pulling gently, Phil guided him down until their lips met then kissed him softly but greedily, licking his way into Clint’s mouth, tasting peat and smoke and honey, sliding one arm round his waist to hold him close. Clint followed easily, going almost boneless, diving into the kiss willingly and deep. They kissed for long minutes until Clint pulled back, panting and giggling,

“Fuck, I’m so hot!” Phil gave him anapparaising look and he laughed, “Oh, not like that…the coat. If we’re staying then I have got to get out of all these layers.”

Phil looked down at himself and couldn’t help snorting. They were both still wrapped up in their cold weather gear, coats, boots, thermal underwear and all. No wonder Clint was getting hot and bothered, he was feeling that way himself and not for the more fun reasons, “Well,” he said, “as we’re officially off-mission, I suppose my last act as lead is to sign off on that plan. Permission to de-fleece granted.”

“Thank fuck.” Clint started to strip off and sighed happily, “Off mission sounds good to me. Wait,” he stopped wrestling the zips of his many jackets and looked up, “did Tony say the 29th? For our ride home? The 29th?”

“He did.”

Clint’s grinned, slow, and brilliant, “Fuck, that’s five nights away Phil. Five whole nights just us, no interruptions. Just us.”

Phil couldn’t help but grin back, his chest practically bursting with love, excitement and anticipation, “And four days.”

“And four days…” Clint repeated wonderingly, “That’s longer than we’ve had all at once, ever. Jeez. Where do we even start?”

Phil’s mind whirled with possibilities, but really, there was only one place, “Well,” he shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “he did also say that the shower is big enough for two…. how fast can you get those boots off?”

Clint laughed and bent to his laces, “Race ya!”

\---

They chased through the house like children, shedding layers and opening doors at random, careering into walls, doors and each other until they found the bathroom and fell into it in a laughing heap. The shower was indeed big enough for two (or possibly six) but so was the tub and they chose that instead, pouring sweet-scented bottles out under the running water until the bubbles threatened to come over the top.

“Oh my goooodddddd,” Clint sighed as he stretched out to his full length, chin only just above the water, “This is like a swimming pool. Phil, you have the best ideas.”

“And I’m not done yet,” Phil smiled, “come on, scootch.” When Clint sat up he lowered himself down into the water behind him so that Clint was bracketed between his thighs, his head resting against Phil’s shoulder, Phil’s arms wrapped round his chest.

“Hello.” Clint smiled up at him and Phil leaned down for an upside-down, slightly bubbly kiss.

“Hello yourself.”

“Now what?”

“Now, sweetheart,” he waved the washcloth in his hand in front of Clint’s face, “you just relax.”

For once, Clint did as he was told, leaning heavily back and closing his eyes. Phil hummed happily and proceeded to wash him down, taking his time running palms and cloth over smooth muscles and lean curves and digging his thumbs into tight spots until Clint was moaning softly under his hands.

“Alright?” He lifted one of Clint’s hands out of the water and stroked the long bones of his fingers, working round the calluses, pulling gently.

“’mazing.” Clint’s voice slurred, “Jus…s’awesome Phil.”

Which was exactly the effect Phil had been hoping for, “Good. Let me come round and I’ll do your legs.”

He took his time there too, admiring the strong lines of Clint’s calves and thighs, enjoying his small whines and groans, the way his breath hitched when Phil skimmed his hand over the swell of his thigh, rounded the curve of his hip. Skin sliding slick over skin, Clint was _beautiful_ , golden and supple and warm and god Phil wanted him. But then, he always wanted him, there hadn’t really been a minute in years when he hadn’t wanted him, and for now he made no moves to take things any further than the slow, tender touches. The evening wasn’t about that. For once, there was no sense of urgency, no need to rush or scramble to the next task, the next call. For once, they had time to just, indulge. And Phil meant to.

By the time he’d finished rinsing suds from Clint’s fresh-washed hair the water was cooling and Clint’s eyes were distinctly hazy. Clambering out of the tub, Phil dried Clint off then wrapped them both in huge and indecently fluffy towels and walked them to the bedroom, holding Clint’s hand all the way. The bed was just as huge and indecent as the towels and they fell into it gratefully, snuggling down and pulling the covers close around them, Clint tucked under Phil’s arm, his head on Phil’s chest, eyes already closed. 

“Lights?” Phil said, hopefully, following a hunch, and the lamps turned off, dropping the room in gentle darkness. Sending a silent thank you to Stark’s technology addiction, Phil pulled Clint closer, and stroked the small of his back, his skin was smooth and warm under his fingers and Phil couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt so…contented. Clint sighed happily and curled his knee up over Phil’s thighs, threw his arm over his waist and burrowed down further into him. Phil smiled into the darkness. He’d wanted ‘cuddle up and cosy down’, hoped for and then despaired of ever getting it and now here he was, beyond all expectation, lying with Clint’s weight curled solid against and over him, their breath coming in synch, steady and peaceful. Gods but he was the luckiest bastard. He was still smiling he finally fell asleep.

\---

When Phil woke, sun filtering gently through the tinted windows, the bed was empty. Clint’s side was still warm though, one of the two robes that he’d just had enough energy to notice hanging on the bedroom door last night was missing and there were delicious smells drifting up the stairs so Phil didn’t bother worrying, just stretched luxuriously, pulled on some underwear and snagged the other robe before padding downstairs in search of his lover.

He found Clint curled up on the corner of one of the huge couches, hands wrapped around a steaming mug, apparently the source of the delicious smells. The fairy lights and tree were lit, the fire was already burning merrily away in the hearth and, perhaps because it was so warm, Clint was wearing nothing but his boxers and the missing robe, which he had untied, so that it fell to frame his strong chest and flexed legs in soft folds. The contrast was really very appealing and Phil took the time as he walked across the room to the sofa to rake over the length of Clint’s body, taking in the extremely enticing sight. When he reached his goal Clint was looking up at him, smirking knowingly,

“Merry Christmas babe.”

“Same to you sweetheart.” Phil bent down for a kiss, finding Clint’s mouth rich and sweet, “Hot chocolate? This early?”

“We,” Clint said, taking a smug sip, “are on vacation. And you’re the one who picked Ghiardelli’s. You expect me to resist that?”

“Never.” Phil cocked his head, “You said ‘we’?”

“Of course,” Clint nodded back towards the kitchen area, “Yours is under that cottage-shaped-teapot-igloo thingy in there.”

“I knew I loved you for a reason.” Chuckling, Phil went to retrieve his own mug from under the tea cosy. When he returned he found that Clint had stretched out and while he didn’t quite cover the length of the sofa, the innocent way he was sipping his drink made Phil pause. Clint glanced quickly up and then back down when he saw Phil watching, colouring slightly, his smirk not quite hidden by the mug. Oh. Phil’s gut tightened pleasantly, anticipation shuddered down his spine. So _that_ was the game.

“Oh dear,” Phil matched Clint’s faux innocence in his tone, “it seems there’s no more room. Wherever shall I sit?”

Clint looked up, all false surprise, “No room? Oh, well, I guess you could share with me…if you want.” He leaned a little into the armrest and gestured to his lap. Phil smiled,

“I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Carefully balancing his mug and avoiding Clint’s he loosened his own robe and stepped up onto the couch to straddle Clint then settled himself down to kneeling, perched on Clint’s thick thighs. His skin pressed to Clint’s with no fabric between them and gods but that felt good, a much different kind of good than the closeness in the bath had. Phil wriggled his hips in the pretence of getting settled, enjoying the feel of Clint’s firm heat under him. Clint choked mid-swallow and coughed. Phil took his turn to smirk,

“Not comfortable?”

“Oh no,” Clint spluttered sightly, “I’m very ‘comfortable’.”

“Wonderful.”

The next few minutes were a strange soft torture, a game of chicken where neither of them could possibly be the loser, as they sat sipping on chocolate and not speaking but never breaking eye-contact. Phil shifted occasionally, just to watch the shudder travel up Clint’s body, the way his throat tightened. Clint was just as vicious, lifting his hips every now and then as if stretching but pressing up into Phil just so exactly perfectly that he thought he might have to throw the mug to the floor and fill his hands with something much more interesting. He was on the verge of doing just that when Clint cleared his throat and said, somewhat hoarsely,

“I’ve, um, finished. Can I take your mug?”

“Oh thank god, please do.” Phil gulped the last down then handed the thing over and as soon as Clint had put them on the floor leaned down and stretched out and twisted them both so that they ended up lying full length along the couch, bodies pressed together, legs gently tangled.

“Merry Christmas.” he said again, and leaned in to claim another kiss, and taking his time with this one, capturing Clint’s bottom lip and sucking on it gently before releasing it with a nip, “do you want to do gifts?”

Clint gasped and his fingers squeezed reflexively on Phil’s hip, “Gifts’ll keep,” he said, his hand already working under Phil’s robe, “I’ve got something I’d much rather unwrap right here.”

Phil bent to trail his tongue along Clint’s collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin and working his way up his throat in a series of messy, biting kisses until he reached the hollow behind his ear then lingered there for a moment, sucking on the soft skin before taking Clint’s earlobe between his teeth and worrying it gently,

“And I here I thought I was the one with the good ideas.”

Clint shuddered a laugh and slid his hand across Phil’s back, tickling at his spine, finger tips just grazing under his waistband,

“Pretty sure I can come up with something you’ll be interested in….”

As it turned out, he could and it was long and lovely minutes before either of them came up for air again, lips kiss-swollen and skin tingling.

“Phil?”

“Hmmm?” Phil took his mouth away from where he’d been paying sincere attention to Clint’s left nipple. Not wanting to abandon it completely he rolled it gently between his fingers, spit-slick, pinching a little and looked up at Clint’s flushed face, “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fucking awesome,” Clint gasped, rocking up against Phil’s thigh where it was pinned between his legs, “I just thought, maybe it’s time to do some investigating into that ‘fully stocked’ nightstand Tony mentioned, yeah?”

Phil’s gut clenched again and he shivered, “Absolutely. If that’s what you want.”

“I really really _really_ do.”

Damn, but the enthusiasm was so ridiculously sexy. Phil felt himself flushing again, and shook his head, wondering that he had any blood left for his face at all. He kissed Clint again because he just had to, firmly, pushing his tongue deep into his mouth and licking behind his teeth so that Clint mewled and bucked up against him again, then pulled himself up. Legs more than a little wobbly he stood and stared down at Clint who looked utterly debauched lying back against the cushions, robe all awry, a confetti of pink marks littering his chest, “Christ look at you. You are so fucking beautiful.” He held out a hand, “Coming?”

“Would you mind…” Clint blushed, “…would you mind if we stayed down here? I kinda like it with the fire and the lights…that’s got to be part of a fancy Christmas, surely?”

Phil was certain that his heart swelled maybe thirty more sizes, “Sounds perfect. I’ll be quick.”

Clint grinned, “I’ll keep your spot warm.”

Not quite running but definitely taking the stairs two at a time, Phil reached the bedroom in moments and pulled open the drawer of the nightstand Stark had made such a point of mentioning. 

Then he stared. 

‘Presumptuous’ he’d said and that hardly covered the reality, the drawer had so many different varieties of condoms and lube it might as well have been a branch of Walgreens. Scoffing quietly at this new evidence of Stark’s largesse Phil scooped up the most likely looking bottle then closed the drawer. On impulse, he opened the second drawer down and this time laughed out loud – this drawer was a branch of a whole different kind of store and while most of the contents looked a bit too complicated for a lazy Christmas morning, he did take careful note of a few items that would bear investigating later - they did have five whole nights after all. 

Phil closed the drawer and half turned away, then paused. Had he really seen…? The need to get back downstairs and back to Clint was so great that he’d almost not registered it, but surely…that flash of purple...he put the bottle down, pulled the drawer back open and rummaged, almost startled when his hand closed around a familiar square shape. He felt suddenly light-headed. Surely not…but he drew it out and there it was, with a neatly printed post-it stuck to the lid:

_Agent, now this definitely is presumptuous, but a little AI tells me you’ll want this. Merry Christmas and good luck. From JARVIS and maybe me._

Phil’s heart, which had practically stopped at the sight of it, started to pound.

HIs ring box. _The_ ring box. With…he opened it almost cautiously…yes. With Clint’s ring. What he intended would be Clint’s ring anyway, hoped would be, shining and silver, just waiting…

He was racing down the stairs before he’d made a conscious decision.

Clint, still stretched out lithe and lovely on the couch, smiled as he rushed in, “Hey, you were gone a hot minute. Everything…Phil?”

Phil stopped next to the couch and swallowed, “Clint, I need to ask you something.”

“Oh,” Clint must have heard the edge of panic in Phil’s voice because he tensed and shuffled to sit up properly, pulling his robe closer, “sure?”

Everything felt too hot and his heart was thudding in his chest for reasons entirely different from five minutes ago and he might very well be about to throw up, but he’d never been more sure about anything ever. It wasn’t now or never, he knew that, but somehow, no question, it had to be now. He knelt, bringing his eyes level with Clint’s and flipped over his hand to show the little purple box, swallowed again and took a deep breath, “It’s too soon, Clint,” it came out all in a rush, “I know it’s too soon but I don’t really care because life can be...we should know…and this job…anyway. The thing is, I’m old enough now to know what I want and it’s you, Clint. You’re it for me, forever, and…”

“Yes.” Clint barely whispered the word but it stopped Phil in his tracks,

“Sorry?”

“Yes,” Clint repeated, starting to smile, “I mean, assuming that that actually is a ring box in your hand and that it actually does have an engagement ring inside it.”

“It is,” Phil nodded, “and it does.”

“And you are asking me to marry you?”

He nodded again, even more vigorously, “I absolutely am.”

Clint’s smile was like sunshine, brighter than any North Star, “Then yes. Totally and definitely yes.” he held out his hand and Phil saw it was shaking slightly, “Put it on for me?”

Phil’s realised his hands were shaking too as he opened the box and plucked out the ring, struggling just a little. But then he found Clint’s finger and held it firm as he slid the ring on. It went down smoothly and easily, nestled perfectly into place against Clint’s knuckle as if it had always been there. Phil sent a silent thank you to JARVIS for his measuring skills and blatant romantic streak, then watched as Clint twisted his hand this way and that, admiring the simple etched band,

“It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“Really?” Phil couldn’t help asking, “I’m glad but…I don’t want to rush you, I know it’s quick…”

“Phil, my brilliant idiot,” Clint cupped Phil’s face, the ring was cool and new and wonderful against his cheek, “it’s not quick at all. You’ve been it for me too for years. I told you that after you came back and you know I meant it. This is the most perfect thing and I love it and I love you. So much.”

“I love you too,” Phil told him, leaning into his hold and reaching with his own hand for the back of Clint’s neck and pulling him closer, “and I don’t think I have ever been this happy.”

Clint grinned, “Me neither. And I gotta tell you, if this is what having a fancy Christmas is like, I could absolutely get used to it.”

Phil laughed, and even he was amazed at how much joy one simple sound could have in it, “I should warn you, I don’t think that any other year will ever be able to top this. But given that it looks like we’re going to _have_ plenty more years, I’m willing to try.”

“Awesome.” Clint’s eyes twinkled at him and Phil couldn’t stand the distance between them for one second longer, he pulled Clint in for another kiss familiar and yet also now new. He held him firm and kissed him hard, trying to push all the depth of his feelings into it and when he drew back Clint gasped for breath, then laughed, “We’re engaged!” He whispered it like it was a salacious secret and Phil thought he might literally explode from sheer happiness,

“We are,” he agreed, picking up Clint’s left hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckle where his ring sat, “You know, I’ve never kissed an engaged man before.”

“Me neither,” Clint laughed, “and…” he added slyly, “I’ve never made love to one either…how about you take me to bed and put that right, right now?”

Phil’s skin heated again, sparks shot pleasantly down his spine, “More than happy to. But I thought you wanted…with the fire and all?”

“Nah, I’m not letting you out my sight again, fuck knows what you’ll spring on me…Later.” He said firmly, then stood and pulled Phil up with him, “We’ve got time.”

They did have time and they took it. In the depths of the decadent bed Phil kissed and caressed and opened Clint softly and sweetly until he was writhing in his hands then took him as slowly as they could both stand. Steady, slick strokes that turned Phil’s spine molten and had Clint whimpering under him, his “god” and “Phil” and “oh fuck, fuck!”s turning into wordless keening in counterpoint to Phil’s gasps and groans. They fell over the edge almost together, the clench of Clint’s orgasm toppling Phil headlong into his in a burst of sparks that took his vison, filled his senses with nothing but Clint. Eventually, panting and sweaty but very satisfied they collapsed back into the pillows, curling into each other like two spoons in a drawer, like magnets.

“Is it just me,” Clint yawned, smiling sleepily and snugging back tightly into the cradle of Phil’ body, pulling Phil’s arm up round his chest and hugging it, “or do you feel bad that we haven’t actually gotten Tony a gift?”

Phil hummed agreement, pressing a kiss onto Clint’s shoulder, “We will get him one.” With his free hand he pulled the comforter up around them, tucking it firmly round Clint, “The shops’ll open up in a couple of days, we can take a walk and pick him up a real Bakewell Pudding for his New Year’s Eve party.”

Clint made a confused noise, “What in hell is a ‘Bakewell Pudding’?”

“Eggs, almonds and jam in pastry. Local dessert.”

“Sounds disgusting.”

Phil chuckled, “Looks it too, but it’s good. You’ll see, we’ll find one round here. Maybe we can take a trip to _The Cock and Pullet_ too.”

“Actually, I think we just went there.”

“Cheeky. I meant the pub. Say hello to our friend behind the bar. She took quite a shine to you you know.”

Clint snorted, “Not sure I trust her taste then.” He said, yawning again, “Maybe, though. _If_ I ever feel like allowing you to get out of this bed and put clothes on.” He wriggled, pulling the covers closer round his front and snuggling even further back into Phil as if he were trying to merge into him, “Not now though.”

“No,” Phil agreed, “definitely not now. Sleep if you want, sweetheart, we’ve got time.”

“Hmmmm.” Clint relaxed even more thoroughly into Phil’s hold, going soft and boneless, yawning a third time, “Merry Christmas Phil.”

Phil kissed his shoulder again and squeezed his hand, feeling the unfamiliar but oh-so-welcome bite of the ring, “Merry Christmas my fiancé.” Just saying the word made him almost dizzy with wonder and the effect didn’t seem to be lost on Clint who hummed a few off-key bars of what Phil recognised as _‘Going to the Chapel’_ before the song trailed off into the deep steady breathing of sleep.

Phil held back a laugh and pressed his face to the back of Clint’s head, relaxing into the soft mattress, inhaling the scent of Clint’s hair. They absolutely would have to pick up something for Tony, maybe the pudding, maybe a set of local Blue John cufflinks, something, but, as Clint had said, not now. Right now Phil wasn’t sure he could ever be tempted to move again and he was one hundred percent okay with that. Right now it was Christmas, exactly as he’d not quite dared to dream it and the amazing man in his arms had agreed to be Phil’s forever and to let Phil be his. He closed his eyes and wrapped Clint up just that bit tighter. Yes, he could happily stay here forever. 

Thoroughly cuddled up, perfectly cosied down, he could think of no place on earth he’d rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I smushed together some of my favourite Derbyshire places for this and changed the climate to trap the boys where I wanted them. Not sorry! However, the pub and its name are absolutely real and naturally, the jokes abound. Even though it really is apparently all about the chickens.
> 
> Got comments? Please, fuel me, leave 'em below :)


End file.
